Soul of Fire, Heart of Ice
by gote
Summary: He never thought he could feel quite this much. -BlaiseParvati-


_AN: My audition piece for the Fanfiction Idol Competition on HPFC. _

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><p><em><strong>Soul of Fire, Heart of Ice<strong>_

They're shrouded in the white-glow of the moonlight as the stars in their thousands twinkle brightly above them. The grounds are silent and still before them and it feels like a dream, sitting atop the rooftop of the old Scottish castle. It sounds like perfection, but nothing's perfect in a time like this.

It's well past midnight but it's hard to care about things like having class in the morning when you're living in the middle of a war. There's the ever-present undercurrent of danger and he can't help but to feel it pumping through his body, for this _is _dangerous.

They're still just at school but the stakes are higher now than a simple detention or loss of house points. It's all life-and-death and burdens too heavy to be resting upon teenage shoulders. He shouldn't enjoy this feeling of danger (it's just so _Gryffindor _and he's as Slytherin as they get_)_ but it keeps him on the edge. It helps him feel alive.

She's at the forefront of the resistance, fighting for freedom and what's _right_ along with the rest of Dumbledore's Army. He's the Slytherin, just as trapped and confined by this new order as she is. He _can't_ go against the Dark forces, not if he values his own life (and as a self-preserving Slytherin, he does). He's one of them by default. They're on opposing sides and really, they should be enemies, exchanging nothing more between them than a haughty sneer from him and a defiant glare from her. There should be cold indifference and mutual dislike in the place of these midnight meetings and clandestine chats.

But neither feels the hate in their heart for anything but the situation they're in and the people's whose fault it is that they can't even be seen looking at each other in public, let alone have it known that they've been meeting up every night for the past few months.

All they want is an escape from the horror that is everyday life. They'd prefer one that takes them far away from these confining walls, but they'll take what they can get for now.

He's still telling himself that this is all she provides; an escape, a distraction. He doesn't _need_ anyone, and he certainly wouldn't _fall_ for a girl. He's always had them tripping over their feet for his attention and when the fancy strikes him, he'll play them along but he never gets _attached_.

But, oh god, he's addicted now.

She's taken the bottle of firewhiskey they've been sharing off him, knowing he wants nothing more than to drink until everything and everyone disappears. She's worried about him and she worries about him but she wouldn't ever let him know. She just takes a sip herself and clings onto the bottle tight. This worrying though, it's nothing out of the ordinary. Not anymore.

She worries about everything now. Her life is no longer all careless giggles and gushing over clothes and boys. It's fighting and training and training to fight and just trying and trying to keep your head above the ground, not to lose yourself in the seas of uncertainty and hopelessness. She needs to be strong, she needs to feel strong. She needs to see that he hasn't given up, because if _he_–cool, cold, removed Blaise Zabini- can't take it any more she just won't be able to pretend she still can.

They really just need some kind of consistent in this constantly changing world; someone to hold them together, to stop them falling apart. They'll keep pretending this whole thing means nothing. They'll go on lying to each other, to their friends, to _themselves_.

(For now)

She pokes a joke at his expense and he let outs a snort of laughter in response and allows his head fall back against the cool stone castle wall with a soft thud. His dark eyes glisten almost playfully in the moonlight as he looks over at her. "Haven't you heard?" he asks, twirling the bottle cap between his nimble fingers. "I'm a Slytherin. I have no heart."

_Was that a joke?_

It's crazy how different he is around her. How different he _can_ be.

She turns from where she's been standing by the edge. She stares into the distance while he can't stop staring at _her._ She smirks down at him where he sits, back resting safely against the wall. "Don't lie," she says with a teasing smile. "I know you're just a fuzzy little kitten on the inside."

He almost laughs. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "A fuzzy little kitten?" he repeats in dry amusement.

She grins and nods, eyes glinting playfully.

Oh, how they strive for light heartedness.

She's better at it than he is; naturally cheery, even in these dark times. She'll find the positive in the negative but can also discuss things seriously, so she doesn't annoy him. In fact, she's the only person who can seem to attract any kind of smile from his reluctant features.

He hates to ruin their joking mood but he can't help that he only sees darkness, even when he opens his eyes. His face clouds over. "You underestimate me," he says, eyes serious as they fix upon hers. "I could tear you apart."

He hates how he feels like it's tearing him apart just to say it, but it shouldn't. It's who he is, who he's always been. (Isn't it?) Why does she have to be so full of life, so trusting? He feels like a hollow lie around her, the moments (and they're not rare) that he slips back into self-contempt.

He closes his eyes; he can't bear to look at her now.

"I know," she says softly after a few moments of silence. She slides down to sit next to him, bringing her knees up to her chest, almost in imitation of his own pose. Her head falls against his shoulder and she nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck. "But you won't."

He hates the trust he hears in her voice. Why can't she see him for the monster he surely is?

He knows he should push her away. He can't help it; he cares about her too much now and it must be like a family curse to destroy all those they love (one mother, seven dead husbands -sound familiar?) and he should be wanting to shove her away, to keep her safe but he's not strong enough too and he's just too selfish so he allows her to take his hand in hers and he leans his head against hers and he echoes "But I won't," and it sounds like a promise but it's more a promise to himself than to her.

His mind, _heart,_ races with a thousand different thoughts and feelings so he closes his eyes and tries to wish them all away.

They stay out there until they can no longer pretend there isn't an outside world to return to. They share their usual awkward parting, still pretending there's nothing more happening between them than two people who happen to be at the same place at the same time every single night, then go their separate ways. Her to the tower of loyal friends and plotted resistances, him to back to his life of lies and _I don't care that the world is falling apart around me_.

* * *

><p><em>The day they make him Cruciate her is the day that whatever light still existed within him dies.<em>

He'd managed to avoid it for so long. He'd kept his head down low, hadn't done anything to attract any attention. Just the ghost of the boy with the handsome face and the charming words. _Lovely words, enchanting smiles._ He'd only pull them out when he wanted to of course, but they were still a part of who he was. Or so they had been. So they had been before he became the quiet boy at the back of the room with the downcast eyes. Dark eyes, dark hair, tired rings around his eyes. Head down, book out. _Don't look at me._

But it hadn't lasted and soon enough he was called out to join the list of seventh year students -mostly Slytherins- made to administer detention upon the rebelling and victimised students of Hogwarts from under the vigilant eyes of Alecto and Amycus Carrow; Death Eaters/Teachers.

He shouldn't have been surprised at who the student in question was. He shouldn't have expected it to be anyone else. But he'd got his hopes up, hung onto the thing string of hope because simply, he couldn't stand to even think of the alternative. He isn't surprised when the string is cut.

He's lead into a small room that must've once been used as a cell back in the days when the castle's dungeons were just that; dungeons. Not classrooms and common rooms; jail cells. He doesn't know why they even bother to disguise it anymore. This place is their jail. It certainly feels like one. He finds it hard to believe anyone's ever laughed in these areas, ever will laugh again.

_He doesn't think he'll ever laugh again._

He tries to avoid it the best he can. He won't look up, can't look up, because it won't be real until he does. It won't be real until he sees who it is before him and the moments of not knowing (_pretending_) are shattered.

But he can't stare at the ground forever. Like a magnetic pull his eyes are dragged up and, of course, he sees _her._ It's everything he's been dreading and for a split second their eyes meet and his stomach drops just like his hopes and he wants nothing more than to run from this cell, from this castle, from this _country_, but he's nudged forward and he's told to give her what she deserves.

_What she deserves._

She deserves to be freed, taken away from here. She deserves to be carried of into the sunset on the back of a fucking _horse_ to live a life of smiles and happily-ever-afters but that's not what he can give her (_is it?_) and it's certainly not what the Carrows are suggesting.

He's frozen in place while she burns brighter than a thousand suns and not even the cruel slap they give her across her cheek can kill the proud, defiant look upon her beautiful face or dull the fire that burns in her eyes.

She looks at him like '_just do it_,' when the Carrows push him forward, wand in his hands and heart in his throat and he knows then that his worse fears have been confirmed; he's fallen for her. He's fallen and he's still falling and he needs someone to catch him, to stop him before he pummels heart first into the ground that's somehow thousands and thousands of miles below and just _there_ but she's already jumped and she's landed safely on the ground, she's prepared for what's about to happen and just wants to get it over with but he's left stranded in midair. He knows that this is where he should do the unthinkable -the unforgivable- and becomes everything he -Pureblood Slytherin- should be, but he just can't move, just can't speak. The Carrows leer at him and her eyes narrow and a rasping sob escapes from his throat and he's shaking his head and staggering backwards.

They laugh, loudly and cruelly. "Weak!" they cry. "Weak!"

And they tell him to do it, but he just _can't_ so with a flourish of their wands he's thrown to the ground and his head to slams against the stone floor with a sickening crack.

She screams and the cries of "_Weak! Weak_!" echo through his pounding head and he knows then what he's always known, so deep down he though he'd never have to face it, that he _is_ weak. Too weak to do what's expected of him, too weak to stand up against it.

She deserves so much better. That sunset happy ending should never come from someone like him. Not for her. Not for the girl with the smile like sunshine and the laugh that's everything good in the world.

He's too pathetic and too weak; dark and surly, that's all he's ever been. Faked smiles and hollow words are all he's ever had to offer. What was he even thinking, imagining the two of them together?

And if that wasn't enough now there's this.

Even being in a position where he is forced against her like this is bad enough. But being in this position and not even trying to get through it or to get out, that's what's worse. He's giving himself away, giving her away, giving _them_ away. His battle to fight is the battle to keep pretending. He needs to turn the wand on her and to pretend that he _doesn't care,_ because she's just another misbehaving blood traitor and he's not connected to her, to _them_ in any way. He needs to pretend that he doesn't care that his school has turned into a living hell and that he doesn't hate the Carrows with every fibre of his being. But he just can't do it.

He can't do it and let it be over so they can just go on with their lives, their routine, because he cares. For once in his life, he _cares_. He feels all this and more. He just cares too fucking much and of course it's his undoing. It was always going to be. There's only so long that you can pretend complete and utter detachment from the world and other people. There was always going to be someone who'd come along and grab him hook, line and sinker and drown him out at sea.

He knows he deserves what happens next, when the Carrows' wands are turned on him and what follows is all encompassing pain.

He deserves it for all the hearts he's broken. He deserves it for ever thinking she'd be one of the many. He deserves it for his selfish desire for a happy ending with her. He deserves it for ever getting tangled up in her life. He deserves it for not being strong enough. He deserves it for dragging her down with him. He deserves it for every tear she cries as he's tortured. He deserves it for allowing her to care about him. He deserves it for not being able to drive her pain away. He deserves it for being her pain.

It feels like an eternity of endless pain and regret where every one of their cruel laughs and taunts and every one of her cries is twisted and amplified until they too are his pain and they're a part of him and it's like every one of his nightmares but far, far worse. It's after what seems like forever, just when _knows_ that he could die right then and it'd be nothing but a relief, just when he thinks he's going to lose himself forever, that it stops.

As suddenly as if it had never happened, it's over. But there's the anguish of the too fresh memory playing behind his eyes, the silent tears streaming down her face and him sprawled on the floor. How he got there he doesn't know, doesn't even remember. He aches all over, covered in blood and bruises from his spasms of pain against the unforgiving floor.

Before he can even get his bearings he's grabbed by the collar of his shirt, pulled to his feet and slammed against the dungeon wall. His vision is red, blurred and every inch of him is screaming out in agony, but it's nothing. _Nothing_, compared to the sight of her before him, tears streaming down her face, arms held forcefully behind her back to keep her in place as she struggles against her iron strong shackles. It's not that that gets him though, not completely. It's the fear, actual fear that he sees in her eyes when his wand is shoved back in his hands and the cruellest of voices whispers in his ear in a gleeful tone. "To make it stop…"

There's something about it that's horribly, horribly wrong. Wrong, beyond the near infinite wrongness that is this entire situation. Wrong, because she's the strong one; the Gryffindor, the fighter. To see that even she's given up actually _kills_ him because what is he -what ever was he- compared to her? _Nothing_.

She can pretend all she likes now that she doesn't care if he gives in, if he does it. That she knows it's just what needs to be done, what he needs to do. That she's accepted that this is who they are and what this is and it's what's going to happen. She can pretend that all she likes but her eyes _do not lie_ and he knows then that she's given up on this, _given up on him._ She thought she could face it but then she saw it. She saw it happen to him and she can lie all she likes but she doesn't want it to happen to her.

And maybe there was some kind of hope, deep down, that he'd find some kind of inner hero within him and he'd pull it out and save them both but she sees it in his eyes that this isn't going to happen. She knows it and he knows it and she knows he knows it and now she's given up any hope, any pretence.

He can wish all he likes, for things to be different, for _him_ to be different, but he's just not strong enough and yeah, maybe he's going to hate himself with a force that'll rot and twist him apart for the rest of his life but he's going to go through and do it and that fear, that fear in her eyes is acceptance that this is going to happen. He doesn't know why he doesn't die right then.

What he does next -when he raises his wand in his shaking hands and turns it on her- it tears him apart. But he does it. He does it because he has no choice. He does it because he's no save-the-day-triumph-against-evil-and-keep-on-fighting-no-matter-what-Harry-Potter. He does it because he knows in that part of his brain that's strictly cool logic, that this is what he has to do. He doesn't know if its bravery or cowardice but he knows that they'd kill them both if they knew the truth and that this is protecting her, protecting the both of them, it really is. There isn't an official term for what their relationship is (and if there was he'd never admit it'd be Forbidden Friends Who Secretly Love Each Other) but what they have is enough for cries of _betrayal_ and _treason_ and enough to warrant one or the other to be put to death. So it's with this twisted logic that he means every bit behind the curse. The wanting and the needing that must be felt in order for the curse to work properly, he feels it. It's convincing because it has to be.

He hates it. He hates that he can mean it. He hates that he can hate that he means it.

It's what needs to be done and hadn't he accepted that? But he doesn't feel like he's doing the right thing and every one of her screams rips through his insides and tears him apart like he's nothing and distantly he wonders when cool, collected, unfeeling, distant _Blaise Zabini_ became capable –not of causing this kind of pain- but of feeling it. For he feels her pain as if it's his own. Her soul of fire melted his heart of ice and he's been left feeling so exposed and vulnerable and _human_ and he can't stand it.

He's spent his whole life turning a blind eye to all the horrors of the world, not letting them affect him. He's always been frightened of feeling, of caring, but now he's experiencing these horrors and these feelings firsthand and it's shaking him down to the bone.

He can't comprehend how this is allowed to happen. When did this horror and this suffering become an everyday occurrence, within the walls of what should be their safe haven? How can they be expected to deal with it? He knows he can't. They're _students_, not **soldiers** and it's just not fucking fair.

They should complaining about homework and dozing their way through classes, not be learning how to kill and travelling in packs, too scared to turn a corner alone. They should be laughing over feasts and relaxing by the lake, not hiding from shadows and torturing those they love.

_Love_.

He can't believe the word even crossed his mind and before he knows it he's pulling the spell back in horror. He doesn't know if it's horror at his use of _that_ word or horror at what he's been doing but it surges through him until it's all he can feel, all that he is.

It felt like forever but forever is deceiving so for a moment he's terrified that they're going to make him resume. But apparently it was long enough to quench the Carrows' thirst for blood and they push him to the ground like the dirt he knows he is but don't demand anymore from him. (_How could they when they've clearly taken everything?)_

He's too weak to fight back (_isn't that the story of his life?_) yet for what may be the first time, he wants to. More than anything. He wants to fight for the respect he's lost when they kick at him like some filthy mutt on the streets, for the pain they've caused and will continue to cause, and for the part of him that he knows he's never going to get back. But he's left shaking on the floor and they leave the room, slamming the door shut behind them. Their laughter echoes through the room.

_Lesson learnt._

He manages to raise his head. His breathing's still heavy and tears he didn't know he was crying flow freely down his cheeks but he squints ahead. All he sees is the crumbled form of her body upon the floor in front of him. His heaviness of breathing and flowing of tears doubles.

He crawls, but it's more of a half-drag than a crawl, and it's only out of sheer desperation that he manages to make it to her. Then somehow, through the tears in his eyes and the fear in his heart, he sees her face. But only barely, so with trembling hands he lifts her head towards his own and it's not that she doesn't want to look at him; it's that she physically can't.

_**That's when he breaks.**_

"Wake up," he sobs. "Wake up, wake up, wake _up_!"

There's no movement from her and his whole body is shaking with sobs. He's shaken and at a complete loss of what to do. In a moment of sheer desperation he presses his lips to hers.

She stirs and his head flies back, his heart seeming to kick start.

"_Blaise_."

It's a single word and the faintest of murmurs, but it's his name and she's _alive_ and-

His train of thought breaks off and he jumps back, flinging himself against the far wall. His head knocks again against the stone wall but he doesn't even notice. Eyes wider than they've ever been, heart beating faster than it ever has. He's paralysed by the conflicting sea of emotions that flood through him with all the force of the worst of tidal waves. _Relief and terror._

When she sits up and she looks at him, not with disgust or anger but a soft question in her wide brown eyes, he doesn't know why his heart doesn't stop right then –he deserves nothing less.

"Blaise?" she asks, eyebrows pulling together slightly, voice cracking.

He shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth, and tries to retreat further against the wall, eyes wide and fearful, even as they flood with tears. "Keep away from me!" he says, tone bordering on hysterical.

It's her turn to crawl to him now and her next words are a testament to how close they've grown over the past few months. She knows exactly what he's thinking, what he's feeling. "I don't blame you," she says, tone soft and eyes sincere. "It's not your fault."

"It is!" he cries. "What I just did… you didn't deserve that at all. You don't deserve that. You don't deserve-" His voice breaks, "-me."

A small smile through cracked, bloody lips. "What do I deserve?" she asks.

She's kneeling in front of him now and he's cowering against the wall, blocking his face with his long limbs.

He raises his eyes to hers from behind his hands. "You deserve the world," he says honestly, his voice hoarse.

Her gaze is steady when she looks back at him and he doesn't know how much more he can take. He can't honestly say he wants her to agree with what he's saying, as much as he believes it himself.

"I don't want the world," she answers, brushing his bloodied hair back from his face. "I want you."

He can't do it any longer.

"Foolish girl," he manages to rasp out, before she collides her lips against his and her hands are gripping the hair at the back of his head and pulling him towards her. He's given in, of course. He never had much self-control (weak_, remember?_) and it's this he wants more than anything. It's _her._

He knows that surely he's a horrible person for inflicting himself upon her when she deserves so much more. But in his defence she said it's what she wants too and he's not going to argue if she can't see otherwise. He can hardly believe it. It's against all his luck and everything that should be in this world but it's happening and it's real and he's pretty sure that this is perfection.

It's this moment, this girl. It's both their tears mixing together and her whispered assurances that _it's okay,_ that _everything's going to be okay_ (lies, of course, but he'll believe anything right now). It's the only thing stopping him from throwing himself off Hogwarts' tallest tower and just letting everything disappear.

They have a few minutes where it's just the two of them. It's pain and it's happiness. It's all they could wish for in this place, at this time. It's too wonderful and perfect and amazing to be coming from two bloody and tear-covered, bruised and broken people. Especially considering they each have each other to blame for the state they're now, but in this moment none of that seems to matter and it's just the two of them and they're both alive and they'll keep going because it's okay, they've got each other and that's all that matters.

But like anything that even resembles perfection, it can't last forever. There's the sound of footsteps approaching. The Carrows must be returning. There's no way Blaise is going to allow Round Two but he doesn't leap away first thing, like his instinct wants him to. His eyes are worried though and surely she understands for she kisses him once quickly. "It's okay," she says. "Quick. Go!"

He obeys, shoots her one last look and although it goes against everything he's always done he tries to convey everything he's feeling, everything he wants to say to her, into his eyes and he just hopes she understands.

He's barely on his feet when the door opens. It's not either Carrow, but Neville Longbottom and the Irish one. Finnegan, maybe?

The sight of them isn't a relief though and Blaise feels completely on edge, frozen in his movement, one foot out in a step he hasn't yet taken. He feels caught stuck like that and his heart rate is definitely not slowing down yet.

But he doesn't attract more than a glance from either boy. They don't even seem to notice that he's covered in blood, his clothes are ripped and his insides have been torn apart several times over and then finally stitched back together with simple yet heartfelt stitches that may or may not last from the girl that's on the floor before them. It's her that holds their complete attention.

"Parvati," Longbottom breathes in a sigh of relief that feels like a stab through Blaise's heart.

Finnegan fixes his angry, blue-eyed glare on Blaise for a split second before making his towards Parvati, Longbottom at his side. "Get outta here, Zabini," he says. "You've had your fun."

There's so many retorts gushing through Blaise's head but he bites them all back, turns on his heel and leaves the room. The whole world seems to spin beneath him but somehow he manages to make it through the door without walking into the frame. As soon as he's through though, the door slams shut behind him and he falls to the ground.

For a brief moment he contemplates what would happen if he never got back up, but he summons the energy and the will power to rise to his feet. He's not going to die on some dirty _floor_.

His appearance is the last thing on his mind as he stumbles back towards the Slytherin common room, for the first time in his life being thankful that it's situated in the dungeons. His robes are torn and covered in blood, there's tears dried on his cheeks and he's barely able to stand, let alone walk, but he barely notices.

Draco Malfoy notices. He's just exiting the common room when Blaise goes to enter it.

Surprise isn't something that is often seen crossing Draco's perfectly controlled features but it crosses it now. He's eyes widen and he sucks in a sharp intake of breath. "Zabini? What _happened_to you?"

Blaise's head is spinning and he tries to focus his eyes on his fellow Slytherin, tries to find the words. "Cruciatus… wall… floor…"

Draco swears. "Cruciatus?" he clarifies, "I thought that was reserved for Gryffindors and blood traitors?"

"A-apparently not."

A strange look crosses Draco's face. Concern maybe, or possibly just fear, but it's smoothed out in an instant. Draco's face hardens and his tone switches to annoyed. Blaise isn't entirely aware of what's happening; his head's swimming, both from the pain and from a thousand different thoughts and worries, but Draco's talking, scolding him. Dragging him into a deserted corridor, commanding him to sit down.

What was Blaise thinking? He can't be seen like that, what would people think? The Slytherins have enough on their minds without having to worry that they too may become subject to the torture sessions that have become the detentions. There's more and it goes on and on, but it's worry, not malice, that undertone's Draco's words.

"I'm going to fix you up," he says quietly, pulling out his wand and crouching down to Blaise's level.

Blaise watches through half lidded eyes as Draco mutters healing and cleaning spells under his breath.

It's the only sound for a minute or so before Draco asks in a carefully controlled voice. "Weren't you meant to be administering the detention, not receiving it?"

"I administered," replies Blaise, voice short.

Draco quirks a perfect blond eyebrow in response. "And I guess that explains how you appear to have been trampled by a heard of angry hippogriffs?"

Blaise stays silent. It's always been what he was good at.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Blaise decides to play dumb. "Tell you what?"

"What you did."

"I didn't do anything." (Which was the problem, _really)_

Draco's silent for a minute, he lifts Blaise's head back (causing a hiss of pain from the recipient) to heal the bloodied mess that is the back of Blaise's head. "You couldn't do it," he says. It's impossible to judge what he's thinking from his tone. It's a simple statement of fact.

Blaise's eyes flick towards the ground. "I couldn't do it."

Draco looks at him sharply. "It's just something that we have to do, Blaise. It's survival."

"I know!" Blaise retorts, angry now. "But I couldn't do it, not on her-" He stops mid sentence, eyes widening as he realises his mistake.

Draco hasn't completely caught up yet and he looks at Blaise, eyes questioning. "What?" he asks. "Are they doing it to first years now?

Blaise moves his head but an inch. It's the briefest of shakes, but it's still a no and Draco's eyes are trained on him sharply enough to catch it.

There's a moment where they simply stare at each other and then, to Blaise's surprise, a small smirk tugs at the corner of Draco's mouth. "So the rumours are true," the blond says. "You do have a heart."

Blaise's mouth curls into a sneer. "Don't remind me," he hisses through ground teeth and pushes himself to his feet and storms away.

Draco steps back and allows him to leave, face twisting up thoughtfully.

* * *

><p>The next morning Blaise is on his way down to Dark Arts (they don't even bother pretending its 'Defence Against The' anymore) when Draco catches up to him. He walks extra close and mutters in Blaise's ear.<p>

"Greengrass was a bit hesitant at first," he says, "They didn't Cruciate her."

"Maybe they didn't want to hurt a girl."

Draco doesn't even bother gracing the ridiculously untrue statement with a response. He just fixes that sharp look on Blaise. "For once in your life, Zabini," he drawls, "Could you tell the truth?"

Blaise keeps his gaze focussed perfectly in front of him. "They think I'm sympathetic to _their side._"

"Are you?"

"No," Blaise lies sharply. "I just believe the Cruciatus Curse is an unnecessary barbaric measure and I wish they wouldn't drag me into their preposterous power regime," he pauses. "I've already told you this."

Draco just nods. "Understandable," he says. He too keeps his eyes fixed forward, expression unreadable. "I'd be careful who you're seen with, or looking at, if I were you though. You wouldn't want to prompt inaccurate suspicions."

Blaise has already considered this. He believes the Carrows will be watching him extra closely, alert for any signs of betrayal. He can read into Draco's even tone and knows that he's onto him, which he hates. It wouldn't be comforting, even if it wasn't coming from someone with the Dark Mark branded onto their left forearm, but Draco says no more and has after all just gone along with Blaise's charade, so Blaise decides that although he can't trust him, he may not have to worry about being given away. After all, there's no concrete evidence to suggest anything condemning. It's all internal; the damage, the growth.

They're silent when they enter the classroom. Everyone is. No one dares to speak out anymore.

Blaise tries not to let his eyes drift towards the Gryffindor side. Unbidden however, they do.

Longbottom and Finnegan sit on either side of her, guarding her sides as if she's the fucking Minister for Magic or something. He feels white hot jealous anger pour through him and he doesn't quite understand why. He's relieved to see that there are no visible signs of what happened yesterday upon her, but if she's anything like him there'll definitely be scars. Just not ones visible to the eye.

He thinks back to his own realisations and the confirmation Draco gave concerning them. When she looks up and for a moment their eyes meet he does what he knows has to be done; shakes his head. Just once, just the smallest movement, but they both know what he means. _We can't do this anymore._He hopes the pain in his eyes conveys how hard this is for him to do. How much he wishes he didn't have to do it.

She nods once in return and it too is barely a movement but it's enough to make his heart sink in his chest. She must have been thinking the same thing as he him and know that it has to be done. All this takes only a second or two. Their eyes tear apart and it's far too long until they meet again.

* * *

><p>Blaise passes the next few months in some sort of stupor. It's a struggle every day to just get out of bed and continue on like everything's normal, like everything's fine. His suspicions were proved correct but the Carrows stopped watching him so closely after the first couple weeks. Still he doesn't dare meet back up with Parvati again.<p>

It must have been those midnight meetings -it must have been _her_- that were keeping him sane because somehow he can't breathe properly anymore. There's this constant, anxious pain in his chest and it chokes him up, drags him down. He tries to shove down the despair that weighs him down every single day and just wake up and go on. Sometimes he manages to ignore it and he feels fine -kind of numb- but fine. But it always comes back to bite him, worse than it started and he finds himself breaking down again.

It becomes almost a chant; he forces it through his mind and then forces himself to obey.

_Wake up__and get out of bed. Wake up, get out of bed and go down to breakfast. Wake up, get out of bed, go down to breakfast, and go to class._

It goes on, the list and the days, but the more they try to pretend like everything's normal the more of a lie it feels. The longer time passes and still there's no end, the more it feels like it's never going to end.

Blaise had never taken much of a political stand, he didn't care for the Death Eaters, he didn't care for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't care about anything. But now he finds him self silently pleading for the demise of the Dark Lord and the blanket of suffering and despair he's cast over everybody's lives. But as far as Blaise knows their only chance is in the hands of a seventeen year old kid with glasses and a bad haircut so _of course_ he has his doubts. He's never been optimistic but now it's nothing but the occasional sight of long dark hair or flashing brown eyes in his peripheral vision that's stopping him from giving up completely.

She hasn't given up. She'd never give up and he can't even imagine what she'd think of him if he did. So he keeps going. He keeps going and he keeps wishing and he keeps hoping and life just goes on, but he doesn't forget. He doesn't forget the pain he can cause, he doesn't forget _her._

* * *

><p>They have two almost-interactions.<p>

The first comes when he's wandering the castle at night. It's not exactly safe to be doing so but he doesn't exactly care. He was going mad in the confines of his dormitory, _of his mind_. He just wanted a walk that'd hopefully help clear his head. He wasn't expecting to run into a group of Dumbledore's Army members.

They're seventh-years, like him. The first thing he notices after that is that _she_is with them.

He doesn't know what it is that they're doing but it doesn't come across as particularly _legal_. They see him and they freeze and he's frozen too because he's only metres from _her._Their group stares at him, looking caught out, and he stares at them with a similar expression. There's something about it that feels almost _the hunter and the hunted_but they're not sure who's hunting who.

"I don't think your spell worked," says one softly, to another.

Terry Boot steps forward, rolling his sleeves up with one hand. His wand is in the other. "It's alright," he says, voice almost menacing as he lifts the wand towards Blaise. "I have another."

But Parvati's hand is on his arm before he can take another step. "It's okay," she says, her eyes not leaving Blaise's. "Let him go. He won't tell."

Blaise doesn't give them a chance to argue. He turns away and walks off.

He stays silent.

* * *

><p>The second instance comes when he's sitting under a tree by the lake in the company of a few other Slytherin seventh years. He knows Parvati's only a few trees away and his heart speeds up at this knowledge. They're in perfect view of each other and it's not like either can resist their eyes wandering.<p>

It's strange but in this moment he's almost relaxed, almost happy.

But then Daphne Greengrass is touching his arm and whispering in his ear in a way that is _not _strictly platonic, echoing back to the days last year of their friends-with-benefits arrangement, and he finds himself freezing up.

It's not just because he knows Parvati's staring at him, wide-eyed and frozen, that he pulls away from Daphne's touch and gets to his feet, heading back up to the castle without a second glance in her direction.

* * *

><p><em>2nd May, 1998<em>

He runs to her.

At the first sign that it was over, really over, unlike the few scares they'd had earlier, he was out.

It nearly drove him insane. The waiting. The not knowing. It filled him with nervous, restless energy that he tried to let out by pacing furiously. But his heart pounded just as loudly, his mind was just as preoccupied and his stomach just as heavy with dread.

He probably drove the other Slytherin seventh years mad, but he just couldn't stop. He felt like they were frozen in time; Theodore Nott sitting stock still, staring at the wall unblinking, looking vaguely like he was going to be sick. Daphne Greengrass with her head buried in her hands. Pansy Parkison, silent for once. He felt like they were frozen, stuck in limbo, and if he stopped moving then everything'd stop. The moment would shatter and the real world would come crashing down on top of them.

He broke that moment though. He broke it when he stopped pacing. When he pulled through the door. When he escaped into the street and into the Hog's Head and up into the tunnel. He shattered the illusion.

The shards haven't settled yet though. He was wrong. It's not over. It won't be over until he sees _her_.

And so he runs.

He runs harder and faster than he ever would've thought himself capable of. It's not long until his breath is coming in rasps and stutters but still, he doesn't stop.

There's only one thought going through his mind right now. There's only been one thought occupying his time and sanity since she stopped turning up to classes and meal times almost a week ago.

_Parvati._ Her face, her smile, her laugh; like they were imprinted onto the back of his eyelids.

He's long since abandoned any disillusion that he doesn't have feelings for her. How could he think that when she is clearly everything?

The thought of her up at the castle, fighting a battle, a war, and him waiting for news in some _basement_… he'd never felt such helplessness.

That's why it is such a relief to be running now. To finally feel like he is doing something. He's missed the opportunity to fight and still, he isn't sure if he could've faced it, but he's not going to sit around and do nothing anymore. He's no longer going to wait on other people. He's going to find the answer to the question himself.

The question that feels like it's been engraved onto the inside of his skull.

_Is she okay?_

She has to be. Don't they say good always prevails? Well she's the best there is. And he knows that if she's not okay, then there's no way he'll ever be again.

He's almost able to hold optimistic thoughts above the swarms of darkness and worry. There's a flame of hope that burns as bright as her eyes and its glowing inside him but then he climbs out of the tunnel, where it seems to have collapsed in and emerges out into the castle grounds. He finds himself standing in front of what was once the grandest castle in the lands. The light goes out. It's extinguished in the split second that it takes him to absorb the horror before his eyes.

She couldn't have survived this. No one could survive this.

He stops. He's frozen in place. Whole walls have crumbled. One of the towers has collapsed. The carcasses of what must have been giant spiders litter the ground and small fires burn all around, red and golden. It's like something from a nightmare. It's a battle scene. It's a ruin. It takes his breath away in all it's terrible, terrible beauty.

His knees weaken and he almost falls to the ground right then and then. Weakens, gives up. But he forces himself to take a step, and then another. Going against all instinct to run, he keeps on going towards the castle. His eyes scan the wreckage as he makes his way towards the almost ruined building. He still has a question without an answer and so he must keep on going.

The grounds are silent apart from the flickering of flames and the pounding of his heart. He makes his way towards the muted voices coming from within the castle's fallen walls. He tries to pick out individual voices. Tries to hear her's. But even with the fallen walls, it's not enough to hear that well. He should've known that. But he'll cling to hopes right now, realistic or otherwise

He makes his way over the debris and destruction. He sees a leg and there's no body attached. He nearly throws up on the spot.

He's almost in the castle now. He's just passing the rubble of a collapsed wall, a pile of broken stone, when he hears a noise. A voice. Or maybe a cry? Whatever it is it's close. Too close to be coming from inside. He stops, strains his ears.

It sounds again. This time it's his heart that stops. Or so it feels for a second. He feels his blood run cold. There's something about that voice. Something that stopped him so suddenly. Stops him faster than the mere sound of a fellow human being crying out in pain ever could. Something horribly familiar.

It can't be her, he thinks. It just can't. What are the chances? The first person he comes to…

But nothing's impossible and the next second he's scrambling over the debris.

"Where are you?" he asks, looking around frantically. Scared stiff that the voice has gone silent.

"Here!" calls the voice. A Girl. Weak but alive.

It only takes him a few seconds to locate her. Then he's scrambling that way. It's only another second. Dark skin, darker her. It's her! She's there! She's alive! He wants to weep with relief.

"Parvati!"

He looks down into her face and his heart nearly stops. His eyes widen in shock. She shakes her head just once. It's barely a movement but it's an answer to the question he hasn't asked. An answer he's already come to. With all the suddenness of a train collision.

"_Padma?"_

A nod.

It's not her but her sister. Her twin sister.

He's struck by a tsunami of emotions. One after the other or all at the same time, he doesn't even know. He can't make sense of them. The sudden urge to run, to find the right girl, crosses his mind. But he shoves it down, disgusted by the very thought. _What would Parvati think?_

He pretends like nothing has happened, but he knows she must have seen what was so clearly in his eyes. His mask had fallen and he was left well and truly exposed. She must have heard the relief in his voice when he thought he'd found Parvati, the disappointment and the fear when she turned out to be Padma.

He takes a deep breath and starts searching through his pockets, looking for his wand. "Stay still," he commands. "I'm going to help you out."

Padma lets out shaky laugh. "Stay still?" she repeats. "I don't think I'm going anywhere."

Blaise barely hears her. He can't find his wand. His searching through his pockets becomes frantic. _Not now. Not now. Not now. _He lets out a long stream of curses under his breathe before giving up, sinking further to the ground and burying his head in his hands.

He doesn't have his wand. He's going to let Parvati's beloved sister die under his care because he doesn't have his wand. She's going to hate him forever _because he doesn't have his wand._

He can barely breathe, let alone hear anything through his shell of panic. It takes a while before the word "arms!" almost at a shout breaks through. "Do you have ARMS?" Padma says. "Lift!"

He leaps to his feet and hold his hands out in front of him, stares down at the like he's never seen them before. _Why didn't he think of that?_ "I am so sorry," he says. "I am hopeless in a crisis."

**_"Really?"_**

He ignores her sarcasm and sets to work at freeing the trapped Ravenclaw. He's glad to find the stone isn't crushing her body. It's stopped by the other bits of stone that it's resting on from either side. It's just holding her in place, except in one spot where it's badly crushing her foot.

It takes a lot of effort and exertion and the whole time he's thinking that every second that tricks by could be costing Parvati her life, but eventually he manages to push the slab of stone off Padma's tiny body.

It's lucky she's so small because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to fit in the small space that saved her life. She's not lucky enough to escape completely without injury, however. Her trapped right foot is not just badly broken but completely smashed. He can tell it's causing her a lot of pain, but the second she's free she's crying out for Parvati, saying she needs to find her.

She's not the only one.

She can't walk, only hop, and she's obviously in a large amount of pain but her thoughts are only for her sister. Luckily Blaise's are similarly focussed. He becomes Padma's crutch. Let's her put an arm around him and wraps one of his around her. He supports her as they hobble into the castle, heading through what were once walls and into the Great Hall where it appears the survivors –and the dead- have assembled.

His stomach turns. Not at the sight of the bodies, but at the thought of who may be among them.

But they've barely taken two steps into the Hall when there's a loud scream –or squeal might be more accurate- and all his worry and all his dread is erased when he sees who emits it. Who's running towards them.

_Parvati._

She looks bloodied and beaten but she's _alive _and it's a thousand times better than Blaise could've dared to hope.

She's there in an instant and she's flinging her arms around both their necks at once and Blaise has to hold Padma extra steady to stop them from all toppling straight over but he doesn't even mind. He's never felt elation like this. He doesn't even feel jealous when Parvati lets go of him merely a second later to hug her sister like she's never going to let go. She's crying and she's laughing and she's kissing Padma repetitively, all over her face, and all Blaise can do is drink in the sight of her.

Her hair's singed half off at the length, an ugly cut tears her face almost in half and she's covered in sweat and blood but he's certain that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Eventually she has to turn away from Padma, who's carried away by the mediwizards who have started to arrive on the scene. Parvati shakes one off who's gesturing towards her face and stops and stares at Blaise.

Blaise who returned her sister to her. Blaise who she hasn't spoken to in far too many months. Blaise who hasn't yet said a word. Blaise who suddenly can't say a word. Blaise who's suddenly frozen and awkward.

He's aware of how out of place he is right now. He's aware that he's relatively clean. That he's uninjured. That he's a Slytherin. That maybe nobody wants him here. That maybe she doesn't want him here. That while he's had nothing -nobody- else on his mind but her, she's probably had a thousand other things. Other people.

She's certainly staring at him like she's never seen him before.

Blaise opens his mouth and for some reason he can _not _understand the thing that he comes out with is; "Your face is bleeding."

She's stares at him; that strange, strange expression dominating her face. She's looking at him like he's just announced that he has decided to reject his lineage and become a muggle and he's so confused and so worried and he just can't stand it any longer

He steps towards her, so nervous. His hands shake as he reaches for his green-and-silver tie. "H-here," he says. "I don't have my wand. Sorry. Um-" He steps towards her, holding up the scarf.

She stays silent and her eyes follow the tie as he reaches up and ties it around her head, covering the gash. It's almost comical the way it partly covers one of her eyes. How it sticks out at the side where he tied it.

She's just staring at him with the oddest expression on her face and he just wishes she'd say something –anything- to give him some indication of what she's thinking.

He steps back and as he just needs to say _something _to fill this awkward silence that surely just exists to give him sometime before she announces that she never wants to see him and breaks his heart into a thousand pieces so he stammers out, "Sorry about the colours."

She unfreezes and quite literally throws herself at him.

She loops both her arms around his neck and he barely has time to think _bloody Gryffindor,_ before she's kissing him with such an intensity that he swears his heart is going to burst through his chest.

For at least a minute, and probably more. It's just the two of them. There's no worry about time and place. There's just them and everything they're feeling and it's amazing.

Eventually though, they find themselves in need of a thing called air and they pull apart. She's looking at him with shining eyes and his heart just _soars_ when he sees the grin on her face. He grins back.

"I'm probably a horrible person," she says, "because we're surrounded by the dead and dying, but I am just _so_ happy. I'm alive. Padma's alive. Voldemort's dead. You're here, and we can _finally_ be together.

"Then we can be bad together," he replies. "Because I've never been happier."


End file.
